


Unfortunate Heritage

by SkeletalConstellation



Series: OMNIverse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Character(s), Alien Culture, Blood and Gore, Cruelty, Cyborgs, Future, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ich has conflicting feelings, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Static needs a hug, Tags Are Hard, really this is just a tragic backstory to explain how these two met
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkeletalConstellation/pseuds/SkeletalConstellation
Summary: All Static L. Teven ever wanted was a happy, simple life. To be able to live every day without wondering if it was his last. To live knowing he had food and shelter readily. Unfortunately for the young object head, he was created on Uu, where his very existence is a taboo. Imprisoned in the Capital, he is at the mercy of the terrifying Controls who run the planet and uphold the laws of Omni, the robotic queen of this cruel world. He has no hope left for a pleasant future.At least, until a young cyborg named Ichabod finds him...





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> First time actually publishing a fic, something to help me warm up my writing skills for a web comic I'm working on called Uni. Concrit is super appreciated!

Static L. Teven lay on the cold concrete floor, nearly catatonic as he stared at the grey box he had lived in for nearly three years now. _One thousand and eighty-two days_ , the voice in his head nagged at him. _You've scratched One thousand and eighty two lines on the wall._ He shifted slightly, looking at the rows upon rows of white lines he had carefully carved with the nail he found. He looked at the bottom left corner of the wall, the large first mark standing out like the memory of the day he made it.  _You were only six when you got yourself into this mess._

Yeah, he could remember it. He had been six when the damned robots had dragged him away from the marketplace, thrown him into this cell, and left him to rot.

Six _months_ old. Barely half a year.

He sat up, stretched his aching body, and looked down at himself. Despite being a little under three and a half years of age, he was by no means a child. He supposed all object headed folk were like that, built up by their creators as fully functional adults. Well, fully functional might be a bit of a stretch. The world around him was so confusing and dangerous, he may as well be a child.

"Oi, Eyesore!"

Static stiffened, frozen solid with fear and hatred at the sound of that particular voice. He prayed he had hallucinated it (He had imagined voices before, usually when he was trying to sleep), but even now he could hear the whir of energy associated with the levitation device of the prison guard heralding his approach. He didn't dare move a muscle, antennae quivering ever so slightly as he remained facing away from the energy field that kept him trapped. He tried to remain perfectly still in hopes the robot would pass him by.

He yelped in shock and pain as the back of his head-screen was hit with a well-aimed rock.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, ye ugly piece o' shit, face me!" Ctrl #76 barked at the T.V. head. With much reluctance, he turned around, facial features glowing softly with terror. "Tha's better, monster." the bulky robot growled. Being completely inorganic, he easily passed through the energy field that kept his target trapped. With one swift movement he grabbed the prisoner by the neck and pinned him against the wall with an unnecessary amount of force and locked restraints around his wrists. With a snapping motion he turned off the energy field, shoving the now unarmed man into the hall. "C'mon, we've got a lot o' work to do today and I'd hate to keep Escherichia waiting... Omni knows that woman's hell t' be late around..."

Static wasn't listening. He was on autopilot, stumbling and shuffling through the same hall he walked through every day for the past one thousand eighty-two days of his life.

* * *

Static started playing back every happy memory as he helplessly watched his restrained body be taken apart.

Dr. Ellea pulled apart the skin and tissues edging her incision with her delicate silicone fingertips, prodding at his exposed ribs The cyborg's tongue poked out of her mouth a little, as if she was concentrating on a particularly perplexing puzzle game instead of dissecting a still-living innocent person. she watched his face screen waver, currently playing back what appeared to be a home movie starring two human children playing with some sort of rat-lizard thing. his body lurched as she tapped her fingers in between the bones, poking a _very_ vital organ resting in the cavity his lungs should've been if not for his artificial biology and lack of a breathing mechanism in his head. "Fascinating..." she hummed in the sing-song voice he had grown to fear above all others. She moved her hand down to his vestigial digestive tract, much smaller with the only function of eliminating waste products from his cells. "Very fascinating."

Static had screamed at an ear splitting volume when she made the first cut. Those screams had slowly shrunken into raspy sobs as the pain overwhelmed his senses, making him feel weak and woozy. He had almost fallen unconscious from the agony until he had received a nasty shock to his exposed nervous system, sending him reeling back into consciousness. Now he was doing everything he could to not concentrate on the doctor taking him apart piece by piece.

"How can someone who can't eat put on this much weight?" She smirked, now looking at the slight layer of fat he had been born with. "Surely you'd metabolize it quickly enough?"

Static didn't answer. His face had faded into pure crackling fuzz when she had played with his exposed guts, unresponsive. His antennae were drooped, a faint crackle of energy along their frayed ends. Ellea hummed, lifting his face up by the bottom of his screen. "Hey Drama Queen, I know you're still awake under there," she laughed, poking an old crack in the corner of the glass. He whined near silently, the static fading just enough for her to see his pitiful expression. He could smell his own blue-black blood draining from his form, a painful numbness slowly taking over his body. Blackness started to overtake his vision as his pitiful form started to shut down. _This is it, isn't it,_ was his last thought before his vision cut out.  _She's finally going to kill me._

* * *

 

 _He was waking up for the first time, everything so strange and new. Where was he?_ Who _was he? He sat up shakily and looked around. No one else was there. Was he alone? Was that what it was supposed to be like? No, wait- someone else is here too. The strange man walked over to him, looking baffled at his existed. He... he was crying? What was wrong? He... was hugging him now? And now speaking..._

"Yikes, guess that was too much for you, huh..."

He was fading back into consciousness, a strange but familiar heat washing over his stomach. Dr. Ellea waved the knitter over him, the long laceration healing itself quickly and barely leaving a scar. After she finished, Ctrl #76 picked him up unceremoniously and carried him back to the cell he knew all too well. After he turned the energy field back on, he turned to the sad shape of the object head.

"Today's my last day workin' here, Eyesore," he chuckled. " 'M getting a promotion... be good for the new guard, ye?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he used the last of his strength to reach out his hand with a rusty nail, scratching another line on the wall before falling into dreamless sleep.

One thousand eighty three days. Almost three years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Static is not having a good time at all, now is he?  
> Woo! finally done this first of many many chapters... next chapter will be from the other main characters perspective. But for now, enjoy, tell me what you think in the comments! it's super appreciated


	2. Change of Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod Delevare has had an easy life, in his opinion. Being a type-2 cyborg has had its benefits, even if it meant past pain and limited freedom. After two years of hunting corrupted robots in the wastes, he's finally being transferred to a less dangerous job. However, when given his new role as the new guard over a government laboratory's specimens, he finds himself starting to pity a certain object head in its hold....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, mostly just trying to introduce our other main character along with some other very important aliens

Ichabod Delevare had a charmed life in his own opinion. He had a stable job, government-payed housing, and a high social status from being a type-2 cyborg. Of course, he had to endure several years of experimental cybernetic implantation and gene therapy, followed by two years of military service to Omni hunting down dangerous glitches and monstrous viruses in the perilous deserts of the Waste, but it had brought him to this point, and it was in the past. He could forget the past.

He drifted lazily down the halls of his new assignment, the one that had pulled him from the Waste and into this more comfortable life. Up ahead, a tall, thin, sleek figure stood, artificial features plastered into an annoyed frown.

"You're three minutes late, Mr. Delevare," Escherichia chided him, "I told you to be here at two o'clock sharp."

He looked askance and ran a hand over the back of his head, ruffling his silver-white hair. "Sorry, Ms. E. Got a bit turned around on my way over here."

She scowled, then turned and started floating down the hallway. "I expect you at three o'clock sharp tomorrow. Don't be late again." He nodded, following shortly behind on foot, not graced with levitation like his superior.

"Welcome to Enigma Laboratories," Escherichia recited in her monotonous voice, leading him through the dark halls. "Your job should be easy to understand, though I pray your lack of punctuality is a fluke and not a reflection on your ability to follow orders. All you have to do is make sure your assigned test subjects remain in their cells and to transport the subjects to and from their respective testing areas. I hope," she turned and gave him a hard glare that sent a shiver down Ichabod's reinforced spine, "that's simple enough for even someone with your..." she glanced over him, "...organic components to handle."

He nodded slowly, a spark of unseen anger burning in his guts as he stepped past her and through his assigned door. Before he set foot in the containment sector, a metallic hand stopped him.

"One last thing, Mr. Delevare," Escherichia hissed. "You will see... unsavory things in these halls. Remember your job. You're not paid to pity the subjects, like many of your organic predecessors have before you. Understand?"  

Ichabod nodded. "Understood."

* * *

 

As soon as the door clicked behind him, Ichabod had a brief moment of anger. "OH I swear to OMNI ABOVE of COURSE my boss is a fucking elitist, walking around like she's all HIGH and MIGHTY because she's a ROBOT-" he snarled to no one in particular, before taking a deep breath and regaining his composure. After calming down, he walked down the hall, observing the various inhabitants. A two-headed otherman in one, a large and snarling viral robot in another, what appeared to be a highly mutated human in the third. He past by dozens of sad, angry or emotionless forms, feeling a little sorry for each of them but not devoting any time to really slow to look at them thoroughly. At least, not until he got to the last filled cell.

He wasn't sure what made him stop before he passed the slightly darker cell. Perhaps it was the fact that the figure wasn't facing him like the rest of the prisoners. Perhaps it was the myriad of tally marks carefully scratched on the back wall. Perhaps it was just dumb luck.

Whatever it was, it made the cyborg stop in his tracks to take a closer look at the occupant of the cell.

He was smaller than most of the others, laying in a heap on the floor, almost completely still. Ichabod could see numerous apparent scars on his wrists, ankles and neck that made him wonder what the poor guy had endured. Most strikingly, he could see that where a head should have been, a boxy structure with two long antennae replaced it. These antennae quivered as he approached, the only sign of movement. He knew he shouldn't interact with the creature, he had even been warned against it, but he seemed so... lifeless...

"Hello?"

The creature stiffened, now trembling all over with apparent fear. Ichabod felt a lump in his throat, heavy as lead. "Don't worry," he whispered gently, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"It's no use," A voice sighed, making Ichabod jump in surprise.  He turned to face an otherman with what appeared to be a large crystalline growth taking up half her face. "Poor flick's too gone already. 'Suppose the lab does that to any'ne without enough courage t' stick it out, really. Best t' count your losses an' move on, yanno?"

"What have they been doing to him?" he questioned the girl, earning a wheezy laugh from the extraterrestrial.

"What  _haven't_ they done to the guy, now that's the real question," she chuckled, before breaking into a fit of dry coughing. When she'd recovered, she continued. "Poor guy's been through hell an' back from th' looks of it. I mean, my life's no tea party, but he's gotta have it the roughest here. He's been here the longest... Or at least, he's survived the longest. Hell if I know of any'ne 'cept him who's gotten through more than a coupl'a months in this damn ass hellhole."

He turned back to the object head. As much as he hated to admit it, he could understand why he'd been through so much. Object heads were only allowed to live in the Capital with a license or be subject to imprisonment. So little was known about their existence or the toymakers that created them that the government probably sprung for it'ss first chance to experiment on one.

He looked at the shape, still trembling on the floor, before sighing and walking back up the hall to start the day's assignments.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone curious about what our unfortunate hero looks like?  
> LOOKIT THIS ART THO: http://nukeleer.deviantart.com/art/Sad-Boi-Static-687119433  
> By Nukeleer, totally go check them out!
> 
> Also be sure to hit that kudos button like it called your mom a fatso and comment because I feed on social interaction


	3. Bitter Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod gets his first taste of the life of Static L. Teven and the horrors of Dr. Ellea's lab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing will pick up in this chapter, and things will get messy. More gore and stuff here haha

"Hey, you? I need to take you into the lab."

Static didn't respond to Ichabod, still trembling all over.He had noticed he couldn't see the rise and fall of Static's chest, but he was sure if he could the TV head would be hyperventilating. He dropped the energy field, unable to pass through it without injuring himself with what was left of his organic body. Static stayed still, but trembled more than before as Ichabod approached him. He let out a small whimper when Ichabod put his hand on Static's shoulder, making the cyborg feel a pang of guilt. 

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you," Ichabod murmured, pulling his hand away. "Can you look at me? Please?"

Static was silent for a moment, motionless. Then he slowly turned his head around, facial features painted in permanent worry. Ichabod smiled gently, sitting next to him. "Hey there... this isn't too bad, is it?"

Static swallowed, sitting up slowly and holding out his arms for Ichabod, expecting him to lock the restraints around his wrists. The cyborg sighed a little. "I don't think you're going to run away... I don't have to cuff you if you just follow me." Static looked away and shut his eyes (or at least appeared to, since his facial features were just projected on his screen) and shoved his hands forward, insisting on the handcuffs. Ichabod hesitated for a moment, before locking the restraints around his wrists. "If you insist..." he mumbled, pulling the object head to his feet. Static just stared  at the floor, shuffling through the hallway to his own personal hell.

* * *

A shriek shattered the silence of the laboratory as Static felt his flesh burn.

Dr. Ellea held the hot metal rod in her gloved hands, pressing the red end onto the TV head's back. His face screen flashed between various kinds of desserts rapidly, going between an eclair to a sundae to a cake to a pie in the matter of milliseconds. He wailed as she dragged the blunt rod down his back, then back up again, stopping before hitting a strange slit that rested between his shoulders. Deciding the v-shape mark of burnt tissue was enough evidence of his lack of heat resistance, she put the rod away.

Turning to look at him, she trailed her carefully constructed fingers over his antennae to get his attention, his screen fading from key-lime pie to his face. "Well, you aren't fireproof, Boxy... Bit disappointing, I really hoped that tip I got about your kind from my colleague extended to you... Must have been a fluke, finding a heat-proof object head..." she said, mostly to herself but loud enough for him to hear it.

She grabbed some antiseptic gel from a counter, earning another scream from the TV head as she pressed the fresh wounds with the stinging ointment. His voice eventually gave out, melting into hoarse sobs as she roughly smeared the gel across his back. "Oh shut up, will you?" she snarled. "If you don't want to die from potential infection you will bare this silently!" "Sor-sorry miss..." he whined quietly, trying to bite back the sobs catching in his throat.

* * *

Ichabod found it hard to endure the screaming. He faced away from the table the poor prisoner was strapped to, unable to bring himself to look at what was going on. He had stared in horror when the experiment had started, watching the simplistic face change to  _chocolate mousse_ of all things out of pain, but after that he had to look away, stomach tying in knots. Omnidamnit, why did he feel so bad for him? He had killed dozens of his kind out on the field. Hell, he even got thoroughly fucked up by one after it literally set him on fire. But this guy... he was so weak, so powerless, it made his heart ache. None of the other inmates he had brought in had been treated so inhumanely. Granted, none of them were treated well, something that felt very wrong to Ichabod, but none of them had been straight up  _tortured_ for hours on end. He was glad when it was finally over.

"Hey, newbie! Quit your drama and bring the subject back to his cell," Dr. Ellea barked, peeling off her thick salamander-leather gloves and putting them aside. He nodded, picking up the sorry shape gently and earning a hoarse whimper when he accidentally brushed the burns on his back. He felt terrible as he looked at static's face, the poor guy seeming stuck on an image of a seven-layer cake. He walked back as carefully as possible, earning a scoff from the doctor. "Hurry up you dingus, you aint getting paid to be all lovey-dovey to the freak," she snorted, turning to give him a wild grin that made the patch of exposed skin on the back of his neck get goosebumps. "Ye-yes, miss..." he stammered, suddenly terrified of the shorter cyborg.

Her smile widened, to a point that looked almost unnatural (Though giving her almost entirely robotic form, it probably was) and simply chirped "Good" before turning back to her lab results, leaving the guard to quickly flit out of the room.

* * *

 

"Eh? Back a'ready?" 

Ichabod jumped at the now familiar voice, fucking hell that otherman was good at spooking him. He turned to face her, finding she was just laying there in the opposite cell looking him over with her one good eye. "What, you were expecting me to be out for longer?" he questioned her. 

"With that guy? Thought y'd be outta here for a' least three hours," she commented, before coughing loudly, hacking up something thick and iridescent that Ichabod suspected was blood (though the color confused him, othermen had red blood as far as he knew). After she got in control of herself she wiped the substance off her thin lips with the back of her hand, smiling darkly. "Tha's usu'lly how long it takes her t' pull him apart jus' righ' for her standards"

Ichabod shuddered at the thought, looking back at the young objecthead in the cage. Currently not wearing his usual simple burlap shirt, he could see many small scars criss-crossing his back, as well as the burnt V shape. His face screen was still projecting the seven-layer cake. That gave him an idea of something he could do, something to show him he was on his side...

He looked back at the otherhead. "I don't think I caught your name, Miss," he queried. She smirked and stretched, standing up. 

"It's Alpha t' you, newblood," she declared, giving him a swooping bow that made him chuckle. 

"I'm Ichabod, and I'm glad to make your acquaintance," he chuckled. She looked surprised. "Like th' legen' of sleepy hollow? Tha' human book?" she asked, eye lighting up. "Yeah," he said with a smile, "Like the human book."

* * *

 

Static looked at all one-thousand-eighty-four lines, memories of each day playing out in his mind. he suddenly heard a slight  _whoosh_ as the energy field behind him as lowered and then raised again. He looked behind him, expecting to see Ctrl #76 standing there. Instead, there was nothing but a slice of confetti cake on a plate on the ground next to him.

He blinked, before smearing a finger across the frosting. He couldn't  _really_ eat it, but if he could just manage to get a taste...

Wincing a little from the now dull ache on his back, he stretched his arm up over his shoulders and between the shoulder blades. Moving to the slit on his back, he sighed as the taste buds from the psuedomouth picked up the sweet flavor of the buttercream frosting. He wished he could actually eat the cake, but at least he could taste it. And it was kind of whoever had left the cake there... whoever it could be.

Static didn't want to think about who it could be. He wanted to sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer chapter! and the dudes finally meet!  
> remember to slam dunk that Kudos button and comment because I. love. comments.


End file.
